~ 365 Days of Hope & Healing

Monthly Archives: January 2012

I have a lot of disorganized thoughts about this blog and where it’s going. I’m looking for a focus and I’m starting to be frustrated with myself that I can’t seem to stay on one track. I want to go everywhere all at one time.

I have so many thoughts and so many places I figuratively want to be through writing. Yet, all that seems left for me to talk about are petty things at the end of the day. Or the beginning of the day. It really doesn’t seem to matter what time of day I try to enter into this dialogue with myself.

I don’t know what the block is that I’m fighting against. I’m frustrated a lot. If I follow the frustration down it would probably lead back to a lot of hurt/pain/failure down through the history of my life. Maybe that’s why I avoid going there and instead have been so focused on the superficial or petty things. It seems out of my control, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s just subconscious. Is the subconscious outside of my control? It is within me right? So I must have some say over it. But I have defenses too, and where do they live?

My defenses play hide-and-seek with me. Very frustrating. Maddening.

I need more space. I don’t really know how to accomplish or fulfill this need.

The most space I get is when I am in yoga class or at therapy. Those are my two spaces right now. But even those are filled spaces. I need O P E N space.

Sometimes I want to go to yoga and have an hour of Shavasana (Corpse or Death Pose), but Shavasana usually only lasts for about 5 minutes at the end of the moving practice. I know there’s a whole branch of yoga that focuses on a sort of sleep, but I don’t have time for that, lol. I don’t have time to devote to what I actually feel a craving for. That would be entirely too selfish. And of course, since I crave it don’t I have to deny it? (The Denial Story that plays in my head.)

And in therapy, I just don’t know. My favorite times are when neither me or my therapist are talking at all. Sometimes my therapist allows this and would probably allow it more if I said I wanted or needed that. But usually when there is a quiet spot it doesn’t last long. When it’s quiet I can hear deep inside what I really want to say. It chokes me up and I have to start talking about something else. Because what if I just don’t know how to handle the fragment in my unconscious that is pushing up?

I’m not sure if I have a mental illness. I’ve been diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder by several different people now, but it hasn’t really seemed like a disorder to me until I am so close to stepping out of it or at least sliding down to a lower end of the continuum to becoming more aware.

I sometimes think I have Awareness of my Identity Disorder! Sometimes I feel SO aware it makes me unable to function. So what gives? And which disorder is more functional? I guess it would depend upon what the end goal is. Is it a goal of recovering from Chronic Dissociation to just be more aware? It seems to me that awareness all on its own is pretty useless. Awareness can be drowning…especially if you become so aware that you exceed the awareness of most of the people you’re living around. And I think some would agree that walking around mindlessly numb is consistently rewarded in our culture.

So I have a lot on my mind and not a lot of space to clear out the pieces. I started out really having a lot to say about how I’ve felt lately about large aspects of my creativity and how I just am not able to find the space in my life to exercise it.

I was going to talk about the superficially maddening things. Things like housework and the mindless activities that are always reserved for my place in the family.

And another thing on my mind…my knees. All of my joints, actually. I’m in pain all the time and it’s wearing on me. My entire body is screaming almost all the time. I’ve gone through bouts of intense chronic whole-body pain since 2008. And my husband talked to me today about how when he touches me I feel like concrete.

And I am trained as a massage therapist. In fact, that’s when all this widespread body pain began…when I was in school to become a massage therapist.

I try too hard so much of the time. I try too much. My trying seems to be the very problem sometimes, I think. Because I have such a hard time just letting go.

I have a fantasy of being held in spirit. I have a fantasy that I can let go and everything about my being can be supported. I sometimes have a fascination with the brink of death.

I had a life dream of jumping from an airplane. That dream was fulfilled in 2010.

But even as I write this my husband is talking to me! I need space! I just try to cram it in wherever I think I can maybe get a bite!

The people around me don’t seem to notice that I need space. I need to cry. I need to let go, but that is a luxury.

I need to be held, and I need to let go of that need. I just don’t know how to do it yet because I haven’t had the space to figure it out.

I’m sure this is all over the place. It’s disorganized. It doesn’t link well. It’s probably not followable. But its space and it’s my space and this is where I am in relation to it.

Who changes the toilet paper roll in your house? What does it mean if you are OR are not the toilet paper changer? Does it mean anything? Does it have something to do with the general hierarchy of your house? Or did God just create some people to be TP guardians and some people to not be?

Are you the type of person who even cares if there is toilet paper (or the equivalent) easily accessible after you use the restroom? Do you always look first to see if there is toilet paper handy before you sit down? Who buys the toilet paper in your house and who makes the decisions about what type/brand/style/design characteristics to choose? The person who replaces the TP or the person who doesn’t?

If you are the person who frequently (or always) replaces the empty toilet paper roll with a new one, do you think anyone would notice…or would the TP holder just sit there empty for eternity until you put a new roll in? If you are the TP changer in your house does it really bother/irritate you that if anybody else grabs a roll they NEVER bother to actually insert it into the holder so that it can be rolled out instead of having to hold on to the whole roll (and which always falls out of your hand and rolls across the floor at the most inopportune time, of course.) I mean, it’s called a ROLL of toilet paper because that’s what it’s supposed to do, and that is why TP roll HOLDERS were invented!

If you are a person in your house who never changes the roll (EVEN WHEN YOU SEE IT IS EMPTY AND THE ROLL RAN OUT ON YOUR LAST USE) why don’t you take the effort to put a new roll on before you leave your visit to the restroom? Whyyyyyy? For the love of God, WHY!!??

The Light is a powerful force beyond measure, and has amazing ways of teaching humility! 🙂

This day’s night was, in fact, SO good that I am going to head to bed, rest peacefully (but not before I kiss my husband (see: “Seems Like a Good Idea” page) and let the events marinate a while so I can come back to share this day in full flavor.

Why do so many things have to keep happening in my life that don’t even seem writable about? I’m not an unhappy person, so why does life keep placing me in such unhappy circumstances? I am one of the happiest, liveliest, healthiest people around, but the shit just keeps getting piled on! Is that legal to say here? I’m so not in the censoring mood. If I can’t say shit, well then…shit! Ugh.

Why doesn’t my life play along and let me be that other person. You know, that person that is really me? That person that doesn’t say “shit”…EVER. Well, or at least not in public. Oh god, am I setting myself up to get my post hammered as “mature”? Ugh.

It’s not really a great day. I mean, it started out so gracefully. Me-Yoga-The Sunrise-Cooperative Knees-Low Pain. It started with me walking in the door as the sun rose saying “Rise and Shine everybody! It’s a beautiful day!”

But no. No No NO.

It’s NOT a good day! In fact, good days like to come and whip me in to shape just to remind me that good days are, in fact, not mine to be had! No, its not a good day at all.

In fact, it’s so bad I can’t even write the content of it here. Or maybe I could. But I’ve probably already gone too far. It would be…just….well, it’s unspeakable. Mind-blowing shitty. Oh, if I could only really tell it all.

The healthier I get, the worse the surrounding plot seems to me! Is this some kind of cruel joke? Am I God’s epic production of dark comedy? It’s not funny at all. It’s really not.

But I laugh. I laugh because if I didn’t know better my whole life wouldn’t be real. Why do I have to know better? Can I know worse?

And no, it’s not all about me, but right here in just this one small instant it is because I say so. dammit! It’s a beautiful day!

Something kept entering my mind as I laid in bed last night. It was the word “Grounded”. For several days and nights I have dealt with a pain flare-up. Those come occasionally, and sometimes seem to stick around forever.

Last night I went to a yoga class at a new studio. I was hoping I’d like the studio because it’s so much more convenient to where I live than the one I’ve been going to since I started yoga a few weeks ago.

I loved it. It was the best yoga session I have been to so far. The teacher was the owner of the studio and very grounded in a well-rounded sort of way. Not that sort of fake-ish over-the-top “I’m so grounded. Follow me.” way that I’ve experienced before. She was just confident, knowledgeable and practiced. She had a good focus and was, welll…grounded! Something I was really, really needing because I was in a lot of pain and trying to ground myself.

It was beautiful. I felt like a dancer. I secretly have always wanted to be a dancer, but I’m so uncoordinated that once I was on crutches for weeks after falling UP the stairs in high school! (That didn’t stop me from taking Modern Dance in college though, and that’s a memory I’ll have to tell about when there’s more time!) I love it when the energy and breath and movement sequence is flowing just so spot-on and everything is working. I love being so attuned to every movement I am making and self-correcting when needed once misalignment is brought to my attention.

It was a wonderful grace filled experience last night. I was so thankful for it.

I came home to my family feeling much better, and the pain was evaporating off of me.

So last night I was laying in bed and the word and feeling of “grounded” kept coming back to me. Over and over, every time I woke up it was in my head. “Grounded” I love that word! It’s so stable! Just the sound and feel of it. Just saying it or thinking it can be productive. I’m a bit in love with awareness.

And this morning I woke up feeling ready for the day. With the light came the words “Healthy” “Centered” and “Love”

It’s the most awesome feeling to be injured and in pain and still be gifted with these things. All things really are possible….

I woke up this morning wanting to surrender. I don’t know what it is that caused me to feel this way. Could it have something to do with the confrontation through email I’ve had the last couple of days with my oldest daughter’s Girl Scouts leader? Could it be that my body is all out of whack? Could it be that my heart hurts and is so scared? Could it be that everything is going so fast and my knees are buckling (literally)?

I just woke up this morning wanting to surrender. That’s all I know.

I keep asking God (wherever God is) to show me the way. Show me. Just show me where and what I’m supposed to do. Show me where I’m supposed to be. Where is my heart supposed to be?

God, can you make me be soft?

Every day is a battle, even if it’s a silent one that even I can’t hear through the noise and commotion of living. When it’s quiet the battle is loud and clear.

After writing last night I felt purged and relieved of some pressure, like with a flu. It’s a deceptive relief…the churning pressure, dizzy room-spinning faintness, and then the unstoppable valve that opens to let it all go… only to rebuild again. But oh, when it goes! The garbage leaving the deepest pit, unraveling through the intestines all the way into your throat and finally out your mouth…no matter how distasteful it is…to get it out is heaven. Perfect fever drenched heaven with the gift of lightness when it’s all done.

But sometimes, it is not done at all– Much more remains. And the cycles continue until finally there really is no more.

The hope I am holding today is that “done” happens.

And when I speak of “done” I’m talking about the sickness, not the lightness.

Maybe it’s a little grotesque. But sometimes things are just that way. Not everything has a pretty package. Sometimes reality and the things we go through are disgusting.

Thank goodness we get breaks from the gross part of living sometimes though. Thank goodness there are even breaks between pukes during stomach upsets. I’ll call those moments of grace.

Some space to refuel has to exist, even if refueling is breath. Even if breath is all we can digest. Breath is grace. Breath has more substance than our society generally gives it credit for. We are a society of breath holders, and I don’t mean in the comforting sense. I mean that we are breath deniers.

We should treat the breath we hold inside of us like the way we should treat a little baby. We should talk sweetly to it and nurture it. What if we walked around working on making the conditions for our own breath as positive as we possibly can…instead of constantly cutting it off prematurely. And just like we would for a tiny infant, definitely not put so many judgments on our innocent breath. Love it as helpless as it is.

Anyway, I’m probably getting a little off course, but not too much. I was talking about being thankful for the breaks of lightness that come, even when we’re sick, and breath is a big part of catching a break.

So here I am, back again…to write. To say more. And it had seemed last night when I had finished with my post, there was that “ah, made it through that” feeling. Done! I wasn’t done, and I knew last night I had only just really truly opened up for the first time in any public way and there’s a long way to go both in public and private.

But tonight I sit in the exhaustion and pure pain of a body that has wretched. And I breathe. In through my nose and out again whichever way it will work. And I say a prayer. I pray that I can come back and do it again.

And I pray that if “Done” never really happens then at least feeling “Better” for longer and longer amounts of time will. My heart beats, “better, better, better.”

If I’m honest, there is a lot I haven’t told about yet because it feels like I can’t tell about it. I wonder all the many wonders of this world. Will I be believed? But even more, what will happen if I open this up into my consciousness? Will I be able to accept it myself? What will happen if this “thing” I am keeping in the dark becomes exposed and everybody sees it, especially me? Am I grounded enough? Can I handle this?

At this point in my life I am moving on from so much in my past, but certain things are like tar and never really wear off. Even when it looks like it is off, the residue remains and invisible damage is done to the under-surface that makes it more vulnerable than the untouched spots. I don’t really know that much about tar, but I know a lot about being hurt so if I’m wrong about the effect tar has on what it touches I’m pretty sure I can personally attest to tar on the brain…and the heart. It does not belong there. It can neither get there or be removed without some kind of process.

I don’t know if I can find the words to stop speaking in weak and distant metaphors. I can speak in “as ifs” but not in “as it was/is”. I’ve come through some exceptionally bad times. Bad things. Things that have altered every cell of my being. I have feelings about this, but I keep them contained out of fear….fear like terror. And the mere containment of it changes my chemistry too. I am not free.

I want freedom. I want to have the freedom to speak. The freedom to speak, to breathe. I am holding my breath. I do not have life, at least not my life. My energy swirls wildly within me and rips me apart. On the outside there is chronic pain, but the pain on the inside eats me alive. It’s no mystery to me why inflammation governs me. I laugh and I play, and sometimes the inflammation abates…but only to grow stronger. Always stronger on the comeback.

Where will I put my story? In therapy? With my friends? Handed to my husband? Will my children inherit it on silent pieces of paper when I pass on?

OR WILL I BROADCAST IT TO THE WORLD BECAUSE IT HAS ALL BEEN TOO MUCH.

Who will listen? Will nobody listen? Who will care?

I WILL CARE.

And I will tell enough people until enough people care and the bits of me can begin to let go.

I was not born for nothing.

I can make art and bake cakes and sit in silence and meditate. I can fill my soul with happy thoughts and no thoughts at all…but my soul will not quit screaming.

I will not stop. Why?

Because I choose to not stop.

Why?

Because I didn’t deserve what I got. I didn’t deserve the irreparable damage.

And I’ve got all these questions and thoughts that swirl and swirl and swirl in the tornado of my life and one day I’ll die. And I will not die for nothing.

Because I’m human. Because I feel.

Because my soul was skinned from my flesh…AND I DID NOT SAY IT WAS OK.

I’m so new to the blog world that I am not quite sure how to receive or respond to this gift, but one thing is for sure…I am really so grateful to find myself among such beautiful people!

When I started writing a couple of weeks ago I imagined nobody besides me would really see my blog, and actually somewhat doubted that I’d stick with it for myself in the long haul. It’s scary! Every time I come to show what’s inside me here into this vast unknown I get a little anxious, but the rewards have proven to be worth every bit. The day is still young and a lot of year left, but being here has already broadened my mind and horizons. Everyday I think more and different things, and find myself becoming more excited about life and what there is to share and be a part of. I am learning from the people around me that I really am not so alone, and love wading in the vastitude of thought that surrounds me! No doubt I will be able to extend this gift forward given the time to sink into the blog-o-sphere more deeply (and figure out the actual technical logistics of accepting an award and passing it on!) So thank you again, Maryanne, for being the generous and genuine soul that YOU are! 🙂

And thank you for your patience as I stumble up the stairs for this honor. I hope to continue to prove myself worthy of it! 🙂